Everyone was stupid back in college. That’s how Myungsoo wants to begin. But something about radio etiquette tells him he probably wouldn’t win anything by calling the listeners stupid. And he’s not going to find it out the hard way either, after all, he gets only one shot at this. He flinches here, thinking how he can’t tell his story in his own way. He has to earn people’s sympathy, he has to sell.

So he starts with something else.

“He was in my Japanese class.”

Woohyun turns towards Myungsoo. That one little pronoun, he, is enough to throw the radio station into a black hole of chaos. The lighting crew is having a tough time keeping the equipment straight, the producer is having a hard time keeping quiet even though they’re on air, and the writers have thrown caution to the wind, throwing their hands up in celebration.

Myungsoo is in love with a male.

All of Japan breathes with Myungsoo, slowly and deeply, as memories swim through his mind. “Yes. I think that was one of the reasons it was my favorite class.” A smile spreads across his face. A camera zooms in. Myungsoo barely notices. The writers thank the heavens for viewable radio.

“Because I didn’t just learn Japanese in this class. I didn’t just learn the history, the culture, the language. I learned how to love.” And that sweet, sweet smile turns just slightly bitter towards the end. The cameras zoom in, a little bit more.

Just because one knows how to love, doesn’t mean they will.

Just because one is in love, doesn’t mean the other will be.

Just because one succeeds, doesn’t mean the other will.

Just because Kim Myungsoo is in love with Lee Sungjong, doesn’t mean they can ever be together.

---

Sungjong skips up the stairs, a horrible habit he picked up back in middle school. He looks funny, skipping up the stairs, and his weight shifts uneasily up the uneven ground.

“Ichi, ni, san.” His foot just barely lands on the third step, and he takes a moment to readjust his weight, frowning all the while. This was much easier before.

This was much easier with Myungsoo’s hand guiding his own, with Myungsoo’s smile guiding his own, Myungsoo’s voice guiding his own. “Shi, go, roku.”

Sungjong doesn’t notice his voice softening as he goes up the stairs. He doesn’t notice his skips slip into struts, into steps, into soft, sluggish, slides against the subway stairs. “Shichi.” One more step. Hachi.

Kyuu.

Juu.

Ready or not, here I come. And when Sungjong opens his eyes again, his feet wide awake and ready to chase after their newest prey, he finds the subway empty, his hands empty, his heart empty.

And that’s not something he could ever be ready for.

So when that dreamy voice, that perfect Japanese, pieces together those perfect syllables in Japanese simple enough that Sungjong could guess the gist of what he said, Sungjong breathes alongside him.

Deeply.

Slowly.

Like the rest of his listeners, their heartbeats slowing for him as he confesses his taboo love.

“He was in my Japanese class.”

Ready or not, here I come.

---

When Myungsoo starts talking again, he speaks in that drowsy voice of his, that drowsy voice that isn’t quite here in reality, but hasn’t been entirely trapped in his daydreams either.

“He was my best friend.” He smiles a bit. “He still is my best friend.” But his eyes don’t. His eyes can’t smile.

And in a second, he’s there. He’s in that half empty room, students crowded around one of the desks in the front corner and the sunlight streaming into one of the back corners. The sunlight streaming in to frame his hair, his lips, his smile; the sunlight streaming in to form his halo.

The words just flow.

“He has the kind of dark matted hair that never needs to be brushed, because it doesn’t look any different no matter how much you brush it. We tried once. It took a tub of gel to make one spike. It took hours to wash it out.” The smiles don’t stop coming.

“He has the kind of lips that never stop talking, but no one has the heart to break it to him. Not that anyone ever minded.” The chuckles don’t stop coming.

“He has the kind of laughter that sounds different every time you hear it, because it sounds a little more heavenly each time. Once, I was practicing guitar and making so many mistakes that I gave up and just strummed randomly. I didn’t even notice that he was laughing until he fell over clutching his stomach. I just thought I got really good at guitar.” The laughs don’t stop coming.

“He has the kind of presence that makes me calm on hot days, that keeps me awake on cold days. I don’t mind the cold if he’s there. I can’t feel the cold if he’s there. Not when his blush is warmer than the ice is cold. Not when I’m lost in the crispness of his eyes. Not when…”

The tears don’t stop coming.

---

Sungjong is almost late to class. He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t really enjoy sitting in that back corner of the classroom anymore. Not when the sun taunts him with the memory of a smile that’s no longer there, a smile that replaces the sun on cloudy days, a smile that chases all the fog away.

But Sungjong doesn’t really have a good reason for being late.

He’s just sitting on the swing, listening to Japanese he doesn’t understand. But he really couldn’t be much happier, not unless he is in Japan.

Do you know how much I miss you?

He shakes his head. Of course Myungsoo wouldn’t. He didn’t. And it isn’t possible to explain over phone either.

So Sungjong sits on the swing and listens to that calming voice, to the chuckle in his drowsy voice, to the RJ’s laughter meshing with the low tones of his melancholy thoughts, to the bittersweet tones that he ends with before breaking into tears.

Sungjong doesn’t know why he’s sitting on the swing when the bell rings, looking at that back corner of the classroom from the opposite side of that large, sun-empowering window.

Sungjong doesn’t know why he’s in Korea, thinking about a college graduate in Japan.

Sungjong doesn’t know why, when that voice drips from melancholy to bittersweet, a touch of bittersweet drips down from the corners of his no longer smiling eyes to his no longer blushing cheeks.

---

Myungsoo falters and gives up. The camera zooms in to his eyes. That’s when a distant bell rings somewhere, maybe inside his head. A bell signaling the end of the class.

He only realizes the show has ended when Woohyun, from beside him, apologizes to the listeners and viewers and promises to pick up where they left off next week.

Myungsoo fakes a smile at Woohyun, who looks worried as he takes off his headphones. The bell continues to ring.

Do you know how much I miss you?

Of course Sungjong didn’t.